


crashing ships in the night

by huxleypearl



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Angst with a Happy Ending, Feelings, Hallucination!Ed, Implied Happy Ending Anyway, Ivy Stop Leaving Plants On The Table, M/M, Now Meet Hallucination!Ed, Oswald Psychoanalyzes Himself, Sort of UST, You've Met Hallucination!Oswald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 01:58:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11151804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huxleypearl/pseuds/huxleypearl
Summary: For a moment, Oswald stared in stunned silence. Then peals of laughter ripped from his throat. Replacing his blade, he shook his head with a smile and said, “This isn’t possible. I was just at the Lounge. You, my dear centerpiece, are still quite literally on the rocks. I’m either dreaming or dead.”--Based on a tumblr post I saw about Oswald hallucinating Ed.





	crashing ships in the night

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from "i sat by the ocean" by queens of the stone age. 
> 
> minor 6/10 update: i fixed the weird italicized spaces and tweaked some dialogue.

Fresh throngs of fatigue washed over Oswald as he twisted his key inside the front door of the mansion. Thursday nights at the Iceberg Lounge usually kickstarted the busy weekend, and tonight was no different. He fired an incompetent bartender on the spot, smashing a bottle of mid-shelf vodka at the young man’s feet, demanding that he leave the Lounge _immediately_ if he wanted to keep all of his fingers--how the hell did he not know what a _greyhound_ was?

Quietly--he did not want to wake Ivy, although he suspected she was awake anyway--he hobbled inside and shut the door behind him. The sight of potted plants on the dining room table caught his eye; those were certainly _not_ there when he had left for the Lounge. “That girl,” he mumbled, unable to help the affection crawling into his tone.

The large, electric purple blooms of one particular plant grabbed his attention. He moved closer to inspect it.

It was gorgeous; Ivy had really outdone herself. He ran his fingers along its green leaves, and then its purple petals, idly wondering if he could incorporate it into the lounge--perhaps on the tables? Surely Ivy and Fries could concoct a way for flowers to flourish inside of the Lounge.

Pollen rubbed off onto his fingers, staining them--green? Odd. He blinked. He thought he was wearing gloves.

“I’ve always been partial to the purple myself,” a voice--no, not _a_ voice, _that_ voice--whispered just behind his ear, and Oswald whirled around, unsheathing the blade from within his cane.

Oswald’s blood chilled at the sight before him. Ed stood before him, grin wide. He was donning a purple suit that matched the flowers--and of course, he looked _beautiful._

“Thank you,” Ed said, winking-- _flirtatiously_? (Wait, Oswald never complimented him out loud, did he?)

Slender hands swooped down in the shape of opposing arcs, gesturing to the suit. “How do I look?” When Ed's question was met with a stare, his smile grew. “You’ve always wanted to see me in your favorite color. Too bad you never mentioned it when I would have done _anything for you_ , right? What a wasted opportunity.“

For a moment, Oswald stared in stunned silence. Then peals of laughter ripped from his throat. Replacing his blade, he shook his head with a smile and said, “This isn’t possible. I was just at the Lounge. You, my dear centerpiece, are still quite literally on the rocks. I’m either dreaming or dead.”

Ed--not Ed?--looked up at Oswald from underneath his lashes, his eyes dark and magnetic. Oswald’s breath hitched at the sight. “Are you sure, Oswald?”

Pausing, Oswald answered, “Not entirely, if I’m being honest. But I _am_ certain that you’re not real.”

Tapping his chin, Ed tilted his head to the side. “I begin in the dark, but I depend on the light. Consume me, and I may cost you your life. What am I?”

Annoyed, Oswald collapsed into a chair. He reached for an already opened wine bottle-- _another_ item that was definitely not there when he left for the lounge, but it _did_ explain the current state of the table--and took a swig, long and slow. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back in the chair.

“A plant?” He asked, and _oh,_ it all clicked into place.

He was tripping. None of this was real. Oswald was going to have a talk with Ivy about sneaking wine _and_ drunkenly leaving hallucinogens on the dinner table--

“Correct,” Ed called, and--he was closer, probably standing a few feet in front of Oswald. Oswald kept his eyes closed. He had a _few_ experiences with drugs (he heard Ed hiss out a laugh), but had abstained from messing with anything that could kill him. He was just going to sleep this one off. Ed would eventually go away.

“Hey Oswald,” Ed interrupted.

Or maybe not. A hallucination he may be, this was still _Ed,_ who was endearing--no, no, not _that_ word--annoying. Oswald resisted the urge to open his eyes solely to stare at him, pointedly.

Disregarding Oswald’s lack of a reply, Ed continued. “Riddle me this: I may be quite a sight, but I can crash passing ships in the night. What am I?”

“Ed, I _do not care,_ ” Oswald answered, and immediately cursed himself for speaking to Ed. He could practically hear Ed’s smile stretch. “And this feels less like a riddle and more about you--no, us.”

“Of course it’s about us. I’m a projection of your psyche. Still. Humor me.”

Sighing, Oswald asked, “Ice?”

“Correct,” Ed whispered right in Oswald’s ear, hot and intimate, and Oswald’s eyes flew open. Ed was straddling him.

“What are you doing?” Oswald choked out, reality blurring with hallucination and--

“Fantasy,” Ed laughed, gripping Oswald’s hips. His eyes bored into Oswald’s, neither man looking away. “Fantasy. This is a _fantasy._ Are you reallygoing to pretend that you don’t think about this _all the time_? Oh, _Oswald._ How repressed are you? I’m not even one of those painted ladies your mother warned you about. Or does that make it worse?”

Flushing, Oswald replied, “I don’t--”

Ed cut him off. “I know you first imagine me on your lap, just like this,” he said, and he moved one hand from Oswald’s hip to his chin, slowly tipping Oswald’s head back, “and--what comes next?”

Oswald released a shuddery breath. “You know.”

“That’s right,” Ed said softly--just like how he _used_ to, a pang of nostalgia piercing Oswald’s heart--and he traced a finger along Oswald’s throat, his touch painfully gentle. Ed licked his lips before squeezing Oswald’s throat lightly, and Oswald’s eyes widened.

“ _Slow and painful it shall be_ ,” Ed growled. Oswald’s mind lit at the memory--oh, he loved baring his teeth at Ed and refusing to comply with his ridiculous demand--

\--but he _hated_ the coil of arousal. It confused him then, and it confused him now. He suspected Ed felt the same way. The _real_ Ed, anyway.

Releasing Oswald, Ed leaned in closer and murmured, “I always did like a neck. I wonder if I still will once you thaw me out… or maybe that’s exclusive to women.”

Oswald laughed and waved off Ed. “Oh, Ed. It’s going to be a long time before I even _consider_ doing that. I’m not even going to entertain the idea that anything involving you is exclusive to women. Don’t think I didn’t notice your growing interest in _my_ neck.”

Ed pulled back, that grin splitting his features, and Oswald narrowed his eyes. “Just because you tell yourself something--and, given that I _am_ your hallucination, I suppose that I also qualify as yourself--doesn’t make it any truer.”

“I gave you another chance, and you _still_ tried to kill me a second time,” Oswald remarked. “I have every right to be upset with you. Good thing fortune favors the bold.”

Ignoring him, Ed continued, “But it’s a little romantic, isn’t it? You try to hate me--and you really, really should--and yet… you named your _club_ after me? And wasn’t Fries’ formula originally developed to preserve his wife? The subtext becomes _text_ with you, doesn’t it?”

“I see that your hallucinatory self is no less _arrogant_ than the real thing. To answer your question, my guests seem to find your presence more frightening than romantic, but that’s your prerogative,” Oswald said coolly, shrugging. “And you can be useful, so killing you would have been a waste. Maybe I’ll need your help to solve a mind numbing puzzle one day, or if another Kringle lookalike rolls into town.”

Ed scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Please. You think about bringing me back every day. The smugness is long gone. You almost thawed me out earlier tonight. You started to dial Fries.” His hand ghosted over the phone in Oswald’s jacket. “I’m sure he’d answer. You could even warm me up,” he whispered, and Oswald shivered.

Regaining his wits, Oswald snapped, “It doesn’t matter. It was a moment of weakness, and I still didn’t go through with it.”

“I bet that I’ll be defrosted within a week, cold and wet and at your mercy. I’ll probably fall on my hands and knees, gasping and sputtering, and wouldn’t you love seeing me completely vulnerable? But I will be oh so _very angry with you_ , Oswald,” Ed grinned, cupping Oswald’s face in his hands. “Yes, I’ll be livid. A touch scared, perhaps… or that could be another veneer. It’s hard to tell with me."

"You're more transparent than you realize," Oswald quipped, rolling his eyes.

For a moment, Ed's smile faltered, and Oswald smirked. Much to Oswald's annoyance, the grin returned, teeth blindingly white. "You thought you couldn’t stand me being alive if you couldn’t have me, but the truth is that you _miss_ me. You keep thinking about our conversation by the docks, turning it over and over in your head.”

“Was it the part where you explained why you could never love me?” Oswald retorted, looking Ed straight in the eye.

“That was in the car, but you’ve been mulling over that conversation too,” Ed clipped, removing his hands from Oswald’s face. “You’ve been reflecting on the absolute devastation on my face when I realized--well, what exactly did I realize?”

“I don’t know,” Oswald replied, not wanting to say it out loud.

“You’re speaking to your own hallucination--you have _nothing_ to lose--and you still deny, deny, deny. I was right: you’ll _never_ change,” Ed hissed, his eyes flashing.

Oswald’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “If you _must_ know, you realized that you had finally met your match.” Anger tainting his mouth, he snapped, “Maybe you’re right! I’ve accepted that I may never change. I told you that. But you’re one to talk about denial, _Riddler_.”

Smiling, Ed brushed his thumb over Oswald’s bottom lip; Oswald could have _sworn_ he felt--tasted?--the bite of ice. “ _That’s_ interesting. There’s a lot to parse there. What are you implying?”

“You’re attracted to me, and you don’t want to be,” Oswald said plainly.

Ed hummed in response. “I don’t know. You do want me to _fuck you_ , Oswald,” he made a point of grinding down, and Oswald gasped and moaned, “so that may be coloring your judgement. And isn’t that something? I mean, there’s the part where I tried to kill you. Then you take into account that you’ve never been touched--or even _wanted_ to be, frankly--and you want _me_ to be the first. But that’s not entirely true, because you want me to be the _only_ one. I know it kills you that Ms. Kringle and Isabelle knew me in that way before you could. What was it I said about base emotions again?”

A flame of indignity lit up Oswald’s torso and settled in his chest. “What I feel for you cannot be reduced to my base emotions. Otherwise, we both know you would be dead--and _forgotten,_ because _that_ would be the ultimate crime against Ed Nygma. And,” he said, his eyes flashing, “I know you feel the same way.”

“Do I, Oswald?” Ed asked, dragging a finger along the hollow of Oswald’s throat. Oswald gulped. “Do you think I would carry you to bed and be gentle? Or would it be in that cramped utility closet in the back of the Lounge, during the middle of a shift? Or maybe on the bartop after everyone has left? I know you think about it.” Even while Oswald was in the midst of a hallucination, Ed was _still_ trying to get a rise out of him. Figures.

But Oswald did not let the _real_ Ed best him during their last showdown, and there was no way in hell he would allow _this_ Ed the pleasure. Smiling impishly, Oswald said, “I _know_ you, Ed. I know you better than you know yourself. I proved that by the river. I think I can tell if my feelings are reciprocated. Anyway, your face isn’t exactly hard to read. Remember that little stunt you pulled in the greenhouse?” Ed’s finger halted, and Oswald felt a snap of pride.

“You enjoyed that just as much as I did,” Ed said darkly, his hand wrapping around Oswald’s throat, but he did not squeeze.

“I did enjoy it,” Oswald admitted, begrudgingly. “Why else would I think about it?” Smirking at that, Ed moved his hand away from Oswald’s throat.

“What else do you fantasize about?” Ed inquired, his gaze downcast as he ran his long fingers down Oswald’s chest. Oswald inhaled sharply.

“You,” Oswald answered dryly. “It’s always you. That’s what you want to hear, right?”

“Hmm,” Ed hummed. A dangerous glint sparked in his eyes. “Never Jimbo?”

Lip curling, Oswald said with disgust, “Oh, god, no. I hardly understood why I was so drawn to him then, so it never crossed my mind. But _now_? Never.”

Satisfied, Ed patted Oswald’s chest. “Good.” And wasn’t that just like Ed--quietly jealous and possessive as ever--just like with Butch--

Oswald groaned. How could he have been so blind?

“Would you let me go if it could be like this?” Ed asked, his voice soft again. He stroked Oswald’s cheek.

“What?” Oswald asked, his voice cracking at the sudden gentleness.

Cupping Oswald’s face again, Ed’s expression shifted into sincerity. “Say there’s a _chance_ I do feel the same way, and we discussed and apologized for our… transgressions against the other, and eventually forgave each other. If we could work our way to this point. To this kind of intimacy. Would you risk letting me go?”

“In a heartbeat,” Oswald breathed, his green eyes searching Ed’s dark ones. “I would do anything for you, Ed.” The familiar phrase escaped his mouth before he registered its significance. Tears pricked at the memory.

Ed smiled sadly at Oswald. “I know, and you know I know. That’s what makes it difficult for you.”

Oswald wiped away his tears with the backs of his pointer fingers. “Yes. It’s so hard to trust you, Ed. It’s even harder to accept that it’s _my_ fault--I should have never involved myself.”

“Perhaps. My relationship with Isabelle could have ended after some much needed self-reflection--something I’ve never been very good at--or it could have lasted the rest of my life. But it’s too late for either of us to lament about ‘should have’ or ‘could have,’” Ed said, pressing a finger to Oswald’s lips. “We’ll never know.”

Grimly, Oswald propped his head against his fist. “I hate to admit it, but you’re right. Dwelling on the impossible has only hurt us.” He sighed. “I should let you go, shouldn’t I? The longer I wait, the angrier you’re going to be.”

Ed ran a hand up Oswald’s thigh, his touch rough, and Oswald swallowed a moan. “And the longer it’s going to take for me to even _think_ about doing this.”

“As tempting as that is, I’m more interested in talking to you again,” Oswald admitted shyly. “Although…”

Raising his eyebrows, Ed asked in a low voice, “What?”

\---------

Wrapped in a green satin bathrobe, Ivy stumbled down the stairs. She had left her hangover brew in the kitchen, and she thought she was going to _die_ trying to retrieve it _._ “Oswald?” She asked, squinting at the figure dozing on the couch; a flood of worry briefly distracted her from the pain threatening to split her head in two. “Are you okay?”

Blinking awake, Oswald looked up. “I’m fine. It was a long night,” he replied, gesturing vaguely with his hands.

Ivy noticed his stained fingers. “Oh, no,” she gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. She scanned the plants on the table. “Did you…?”

“Yes, and I suggest you _never_ leave psychedelic plants out in the open again,” he snipped.

“I’m sorry,” Ivy apologized, frowning. Her curiosity itched at her, however, and she asked, “Did you see anything?”

Wanting to keep his answer as vague as possible, he said, “I did.”

“Was it...bad?”

Oswald considered the question. “No. Not really,” he sighed, pulling absentmindedly at his sleeve. Ivy nodded, making a mental note of Oswald’s reaction.

“Anyway, I’m going to sleep in my real bed,” Oswald said, standing up with the help of his cane. He began to walk toward the stairs. His back now to Ivy--and his voice a little louder than necessary--he called, “Good luck with your hangover. I’ll try not to draw back _too_ many curtains.”

Ivy pouted. “You wouldn’t.” Shrugging in response, Oswald couldn’t help but smile.

Once he was in his bedroom, he kicked off his shoes and shrugged away his jacket. His tie unraveled with a tug. He crawled into bed, too exhausted to care about taking off the rest of his clothes.

For what he hoped wouldn’t be the last time, he had fallen asleep with Ed. Waking up alone was a new kind of pain, but not one he couldn’t handle.

In fact, it inspired him.

Oswald leaned over the side of his bed and reached for his jacket. Victorious, he pulled it up and fished his phone out of an inner pocket.

Before he could change his mind, he dialed a number. The phone rang four times before he heard a gruff voice say, “Fries.”

“Victor, I have a favor to ask of you…”

**Author's Note:**

> this IS Oswald's hallucination, so that's why Ed calls Isabella by the wrong name. (and you know damn well Os never learned her name)


End file.
